


A stag ensnared by roses

by madandimpossible



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-18
Updated: 2015-06-18
Packaged: 2018-04-04 22:37:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4155603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madandimpossible/pseuds/madandimpossible
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Margaery Tyrell was betrothed to Stannis Baratheon as a sign of her family's fealty at the end of Robert's Rebellion. When Robert died, five years later, she understood why her family did not break the arrangement. She would not simply be wed to the brother of a king, she would be wed to the king. Robert had left this world without an heir and the Iron Throne fell to his brother. The Gods had a strange sense of humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A stag ensnared by roses

Robert's Rebellion ended on the Trident. Her family had chosen the wrong side and it could have cost them their heads. The new king was merciful and allowed the Tyrell family to bend the knee. 

“Words are wind.” He had said, “I need to know you won't rebel the moment my back is turned.” A proposal – quite literally – was introduced. Mace Tyrell was to marry his eldest daughter to Robert's brother as a sign of good faith. Her father had little choice, it was either accept, or give up the Lord Paramountcy to another family. 

Margaery Tyrell has been betrothed to Stannis Baratheon since she understood the word. She was but a child, still at her grandmother's skirts, when the war began. 

:: August 287 AC ::

Robert does not sit upon the throne for very long. Merely five years after he claims the throne; he dies. 

“Too much wine.” Olenna had said, frowning. 

She would not simply be wed to the brother of a king, she would be wed to the king. Robert had left this world without an heir and the Iron Throne fell to his brother.

:: January 296 AC::

Even now, her wedding day is vivid in her mind. Her handmaidens had been practically humming with excitement. They chatted endlessly about Stannis, about his rule for the past ten years, and how lucky Margaery was. 

She did not feel very lucky. She would be leaving Highgarden to marry a stranger and her fourteenth name day had only just passed. 

The steaming bathwater had calmed her nerves. The scents of lavender and rose filled her nostrils. Her handmaidens scrubbed her skin until it flushed pink. They combed her hair, curled it, and piled it on top of her head. Her handmaidens dabbed rose oil behind her ears, on her wrists, behind her knees and then between her breasts. Margaery lifted her arms as they slid the dress over her head. The crystal blue color brought her eyes to life. Her dress felt so fine, so thin, that Margaery felt as if she was wearing nothing at all. 

“Let's see.” Her handmaiden, Tysa, had said clapping her hands together.

Margaery gave a twirl, watching the dress plume out from around her legs. She felt giddy and nervous and sad all at once. 

“Ah, one last touch – a gift, from the king himself, my lady.” The box was wooden, handcrafted by the looks of it, with a small silver clasp. Margaery tried to stop her hands from trembling as she opened it. Inside the box lay a small, delicate bracelet. At first glance, she thought it was nothing more than a circlet, but upon closer inspection she saw it – engraved was a family of stags running across the band and knotted between each stag was a rose with it's thorns and vines connecting to the next. 

She hoped wearing it would please her new husband.

The Great Sept was overflowing with guests. The banners of house Baratheon and the golden rose of house Tyrell draped next to one another. It was a sea of colors and sounds. Her family would be at the front, as was befitting the house of the bride. When her eyes rose to meet Stannis Baratheon – her breath hitched in her throat. He was clean shaven with a strong jaw and dark blue eyes, but he did not look overjoyed to being wed to her. In fact, he hardly smiled at all throughout the ceremony.

They turned in unison to face their guests and the hall erupted with applause. She entered the sept of Balor as a girl, she left the sept as a queen.

Margaery sat next to her newly wed husband and her family, starting with her father, Mace, sat beside her. Stannis' family sat beside him, with his brother Renly and his wife Arianne Martell. Margaery did not fail to notice that Stannis' only living family was his younger brother since Robert had passed. 

Margaery watched as their guests gorged themselves on finest Arbor wine and strongest mead. The first course had been summer greens tossed with pecans, boiled sweetcorn, and quails drowned in butter. There were roasted meats, honeyed chicken, and venison so tender it melted on her tongue. The bread was freshly baked and still warm to the touch. Each course was presented to the King and his Queen first, before being brought out to the guests. Once the courses of meats and greens were finished, there came the courses of deserts. Trays of lemon cakes with frosted sugar, honey cakes baked with berries and nuts, apricot tarts, and strawberry pie. The rich aromas wafted through the courtyard. The fruits were so rich and ripe. The flavors burst on her tongue. Even her new husband tried one of the apple crisps.

Margaery ate until her stomach was to bursting and her head heavy with wine. 

The new queen smiled at her king, “This is truly a remarkable feast, Your Grace.”

Stannis took a slow sip of his water, “As it should be.” His voice was gruff, but not unkind. “Davos suggested we celebrate the joining of two great families extravagantly as it would strengthen our alliances.”

Margaery smoothed her dress on her lap, contemplating if she should ask – or was it too soon? The wine gave her courage.

“I have a suggestion of my own, Your Grace.”

Stannis raised his brow, but said nothing. 

“There is so much food, we could not possibly eat it all...I suggest we give the leftovers to the people of Flea Bottom.” Margaery had never been to Flea Bottom in her life. She only heard the tales of the poor and sickly in King's Landing. But, a king who was kind, would have the love of the people. And it was the people who tended the farms and volunteered their lives for their liege. Stannis gestured with two fingers for a man sitting nearby to come over. 

She took another sip of wine, the sweet flavor running through her and making her brave. She almost rose from her seat to go and introduce herself to her king's council at the table nearby, but the man approaching made her stop. He had a beard speckled with gray and a small leather bag tied around his neck. She noticed his hands were gloved despite the warmth of King's Landing during the spring. 

“My queen.” He bowed to Margaery. The man lowered himself to allow the King to speak in his ear, nodded at his words, “It will be done, Your Grace.” 

“Who was that?” Margaery asked, grabbing a cherry from the plate and popping it into her mouth.

“The Hand of the King.” Stannis answered simply.

“Tywin isn't your Hand?” Margaery wanted to pinch herself. She should not be questioning his decisions for his council. And yet - everyone knew what a great politician and military leader Tywin was. The Lannisters were a powerful family and better kept as allies then enemies. She scanned the crowd for the golden and red colors of the noble house. 

“Why would he be?” Stannis glanced over at the table, “Davos has been loyal and honest to me since the Siege of Storm's End.”

Margaery took a healthy gulp of wine. She did not question him further. The day rolled into night, with dancing, and music, and more food and wine then Margaery had ever seen in her life. Stannis did not dance with her, but he permitted her to dance if she liked. Margaery took the floor and danced with her brother, Loras, her blue skirts spinning as they stepped in time with the music. 

It felt as if the evening would never end. 

Margaery drew up the sheets to her chin, watching Stannis as he finished a letter at the desk in their chambers. The guests had dragged them both to their bedchambers, hooting and hollering, but once the door was shut – Stannis grabbed a grey cotton robe and slid it on. Margaery, unsure of what else to do, climbed into their bed. 

Some of the guests were still outside – trying to shout bawdy comments through the thick oak door. 

Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched him seal the letter and turn to her. He was broad shouldered and thin, but she had glanced at the muscles of his chest when they were first tossed onto the bed. He was a war commander, he was a solider, and he was nearly a decade older than she was. How inexperience she felt, sitting here, with the soft silken sheets pulled up to cover her nakedness. 

The first time they laid together was awkward. She kept her eyes closed for most of it. It did not last very long and it was not as painful as her ladies in waiting made her believe. 

She waited until she heard him snoring softly beside her to look at him. Margaery propped her head up on her hand, unabashedly admiring him without the fear of being caught. If the singers' songs were true, they always painted Robert as handsome and strong. Even Renly was handsome in his own way with his laughing eyes and charming smile. But, there was something quiet in Stannis that she had yet to place her finger on. The lines of stress etched around his mouth and between his brows. 

He had strong arms, a lean muscled chest, and a trail of dark, coarse hair that ran from his belly button to the thatch between his legs. There was something in the eyes, too. It was not love, or loyalty, or respect – those she would have to earn if she learned anything about her husband on this day. 

Margaery touched the golden bracelet around her wrist. 

 

:: September 296 :: 

The Realm stopped bleeding the day Stannis took the throne. At least, that's what the small folk told her. Margaery spoke to Davos several weeks after herself and Stannis were wed. They developed an arrangement that any extra food for any feast or tournament would go to the orphanages in Flea Bottom. Davos was kind her. A honest and true kindness, not like the fake flattery she saw and heard at court. 

While her king walked the ramparts, improved the Red Keep, and met with his small council – Margaery dirtied her skirts and spread the king's peace down in the city. She was never alone, of course. Her ladies in waiting would come from time to time and she always had a member of the Kingsguard with her. 

She read stories to the children, she lifted her skirts and played in the river, she bought her fabrics from local seamstresses and had her dresses made by them. She visited brothels, inns, and taverns. She sipped watered down ale and listened to their plights. Margaery did everything she could to help the people of King's Landing. The people loved Margaery and would learn to love the king, too.

The more time she spent with the children of Flea Bottom the more her heart ached for a child of her own. They had been married almost nine moons and still a child had not yet been born. Stannis needed an heir. It was her duty to provide one. A healthy baby to carry on the Baratheon line and succeed the throne after his passing. Margaery had gone to the maester, but he told her she was a perfectly healthy, strong woman with good hips. It had been the only stress on their marriage – and she heard the whispers around court – that she was barren, that Stannis would soon request an annulment. Margaery wanted to shut them all up by proving them wrong.

“Varys tells me you've been busy.” Stannis could find no better spymaster than Varys, though he told Margaery in the confidence of their bedchambers that he did not trust the spider. A wise choice, she felt. King's Landing was not a place for trust. “Is Flea Bottom more interesting then court?”

“Oh, yes.” Margaery stopped combing her hair. “You should hear what they say about you.”

Stannis scoffed.

“No, really.” She gave him her full attention now, “They say that the Gods blessed them when Robert died.”

“Peasants don't care who sits on the throne. They care about their land, their crops --”

“Which you help keep safe.” Margaery pressed on, intent on making her husband see the truth, “You do not bring the realm into pointless wars for glory or gold. You do not raise the taxes so they cannot afford to eat. You don't claim their lands for yourself. You are a good king.”

She rose from her seat and set down her comb. Margaery placed a hand on his cheek, rough with stubble, and smiled up at him. He did not look convinced. But, she could not blame him. He had won the throne, not with a war, like Robert had, but it fell to him. It was a responsibility. If he failed, the Realm would bleed again. Renly would become king and she heard the whispers about Renly, too. That he was too much of a boy, he was no battle commander, that he was still a summer child.

The Seven Kingdoms had bled enough. Now, let there be a time of peace.

:: December 296 ::

Stannis marched on Rosby, which was not far at all from King's Landing, but Margaery felt his absence deeply. One of his high lords had conspired against them. When he sent a letter for the high lord to revoke their land and titles – so Stannis could give it to another vassal, one more worthy – the lord rebelled. 

Margaery tried to reason with him, “He could not have more than a few hundred men. You do not need to go.”

“I will not be a king who sits behind his walls and sends men to die for him.”

She watched him leave from the highest tower in the keep. The stag banners flapping in the wind. Margaery placed a hand on the small swell of her lower abdomen. She had not told him the good news. In truth, Margaery was waiting for the maester to assure her the pregnancy would come to term. She did not want to tell Stannis she would be giving him an heir, only to wake one night with blood on her thighs. 

:: June 297 ::

When Stannis returned from Rosby in February, Margaery told him that she was expecting a child. For the first time in their marriage together – Stannis smiled. 

She tried to not let the pregnancy interfere with her duties at court. But, as the months went by, Margaery could no longer travel to Flea Bottom. She had tried to go with a wheelhouse and several of their household guard, but the streets of Flea Bottom were too muddy or too crowded. It was unsafe for her to be there. Margaery wrote letters instead. 

She needed the people to know that their queen had not abandoned them. They were still in her thoughts. Her stomach was round and full and her breasts tender with milk. Her lower back was sore all the time and her calves ached after long of periods of walking. No one had told her pregnancy was so uncomfortable. 

Stannis requested that the wet nurse move to the chambers nearby, so that Margaery could call for her if she was needed in the middle of the night. The maester checked on her everyday. 

“Any day now, I'm sure.” He said, fingers running through his white beard. 

The maester was not wrong. 

Her chest had been burning for the past few days and no milk could soothe it. Sometimes, she would feel a sharp pain and immediately fear the worst – but then it would pass. The cramps got worse throughout the day until she had to lie down for the rest of it and have her dinner brought to her.

One of her handmaiden's dampened her brow with a cool cloth. The pain was worse with each passing hour. 

“Get the maester, and....my husband...” Margaery commanded through grit teeth.

She labored through the night. Her screams echoed down the halls of the Red Keep. Margaery could not recall most of it, only the blinding pain, the cool cloth pressed to her forehead and the voice of her midwife. Sometimes, she thought she saw the face of her husband, but she could not be sure.

There had been so much blood and so much pain.

The squalling cut through the silence of the room. A voice at her ear. “A girl, my lady, a beautiful, healthy baby girl.”

“A girl.” Margaery fell asleep.

Her heart soared the first time she saw Stannis hold the babe in his arms. Swaddled in cloth, Melara was a bundle in her father's arms, cooing and holding his finger. The night had been long and dark, but dawn brought the bells and the joyous announcement that both the heir and the queen were alive. 

“She has a strong grip.” There was a tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. Melara was a mirror to her father with soft black hair and dark blue eyes. She could still see the stress in his shoulders, the lines around his mouth and middle of his brow from frowning too much, but his eyes were soft. The Baratheon line would continue. She had done her duty as his wife and as queen. 

:: January 298 ::

They had thrown a feast in celebration of Melara's birth. It was not as extravagant as their wedding feast, but it had been enough to satisfy the hungers of their lords and vassals. Margaery carried the child, nursed her, and often had to be coaxed from the child's crib to climb into her own bed. 

She could feel, now that the child was born and growing strong, a love blossoming between herself and the king. The previous morning he had woken her with kisses to her shoulder, a hand dipping below her waist and teasing her to wakefulness. Her handmaiden's giggled when she told them, “Perhaps he's realized what great fun making an heir is!” 

It was stirring within her even now with the great hall so full of guests. Stannis sat to her side, eating and drinking modestly, and she kept catching his eyes on her. Margaery had chosen a deep forest green colored gown, the neckline plummeting just below her breast bone. A stag brooch fastened on a thin golden chain around her waist. Her soft brown hair cascaded in waves around her bare shoulders. 

All the great houses had made arrivals. Tywin Lannister, Ormund Arryn (Lysa and Jon's only living child), Eddard Stark, her father, Renly – they had arrived with wishes of good health and the great hall boomed with the rancorous noise of celebration. Margaery toyed with the rose pendent necklace at her neck. 

Stannis' voice was low and deep in his throat, “You are driving me mad.”

Margaery smiled at him, a little flirtatiously, “Good.”

Two years she had known this man. Two years she had laid with him, listened on his councils, worked with him, and earned his respect. No one in the small council raised their brow anymore when Margaery came to sit with them. Maester Pycell had tried to object at first, but Stannis cut him with a hard look; “She is my wife and the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, if she wishes to know the coming and goings of the court and council, then she has every right to sit at this table.” 

Stannis was a hard man, a just man, but he was not a bad man. Every prisoner captured had been given a fair trial, even when Margaery didn't think they deserved it. He sat on the throne for hours, listening to the small folk and high lords, and trusting the words of those who earned it. Davos had told her the story of his fingers. That's when she knew; the heart of Stannis Baratheon was not cold and sharp like an old sword. He was not heartless or cruel. Her love for him was taking root in the freshly dug soil of spring. She could not expect a rosebush to grow in a fortnight, but perhaps it was growing now. It would take patience and care, but she could nurture it into blooming. 

Her king looked at her again with his jaw clenched. He was stubborn and would not break before she did. 

“I could use some fresh air, couldn't you?” Margaery suggested, setting down her chalice of honeyed wine. If anyone saw them leave the great hall, they did not mention it, and Margaery couldn't see why they'd care. There was plenty of wine and ale flowing though those halls. The king could be missed for just a few minutes. 

She pulled him into one of the guest rooms, pressing her mouth to his before he could start protesting. Her tongue ran along his lower lip and he yielded to her, his arms wrapping around her and his mouth opening to her will. Her gown was pushed up and out of the way, small clothes damp with the anticipation and the thrill of possibly being caught. They had dutifully coupled a hundred times, but this was the first time Margaery felt something new. 

He took her against the door of the guest room. Her skirts piled around her waist and her hands clawing at his shoulders. Margaery gasped, she mewled and moaned against him, her hips bucking into his. His stubble rubbed against her chest turning the pale skin a flushed pink. Stannis was a quiet lover. He grunted softly with each thrust, but Margaery had yet to pull him from his inhibitions. There would be time, she reminded herself, there would be time for that.

Her body shivered and tightened with her legs wrapped around his waist. Her nails gently scraped across his scalp. Stannis buried his face between her breasts, panting, as he finished. Margaery hoped his seed would quicken inside her – they were both still young, she could give him another child before the year ended. A son, this time. 

:: October 298 :: 

The Gods must have heard her prayers. She was full and round once more, heavy with a child who was very, very ready to be born. It had been a rougher pregnancy than the last. This time, she woke each morning with bile in her throat. She could not eat whatever she liked, simply because certain smells caused her stomach to roll. She dined on simple, easy foods. Bread and honey, mint tea or water, and avoided all wines and rich foods. The midwife had been worried, “You must eat, Your Grace.” She chastised, “The baby will be born sickly and weak if you do not nourish yourself.” 

Margaery tried. Gods, she tried. She tried to nibble on meats, like boar, and pig, and hare. If she kept the portions small, with not a lot of butter or spice, sometimes her stomach could handle it. She ate oatmeal in the mornings when she could keep it down. She sipped on mint tea in the afternoons. The maester had tried different teas and brews in an attempt to soothe her nausea. It did not work. 

The moist heat of the castle made her tired. She sent for one of the serving girls to bring her iced milk with a little honey. She sipped it, lounging with her ladies in the garden, listening to their gossip and placing a hand on her stomach whenever the child kicked.

In the heat of summer in the early afternoon, Margaery Tyrell gave birth to another girl – Corenna – and she tried not to dwell too much that she had not given him a son and instead focus that she had given him another healthy child.

:: June 300 ::

A raven arrived from the citadel – the Stark words were true. It was officially winter. Their daughter, Melara, celebrated her third name day. There was no feast. Margaery had to stop sending excess food down to Flea Bottom. This had been the longest summer in living history and now it was ending. The atmosphere of King's Landing changed. The men stopped working the fields. The women began to prepare their homes. They nailed shut windows to keep the warmth within. The beds were stocked with furs or piles of linen. Men went out and stocked up on firewood. Margaery had started preparing for winter when the first raven came, signaling that autumn had begun. 

She worked with the master of coin and the cooks to keep the pantries stocked with food that would last them through the years. She stocked the keep with potatoes and salted meats, fresh fruits were reduced into jams and jellies, any food they could not pickle or barrel would be used in the coming months. She saw less and less of her husband. They both had their duties to attend to.

For the first time in a week, Margaery saw her husband before she went to bed for the evening. She had grown accustom to sleeping alone and waking without him. The bed was always still warm when she woke, but she could never say what time he joined her. He looked worse than she's ever seen.

“What worries you, my king?” Margaery asked, fingers twining through her hair as she braided before bed. 

“Renly.” The word was spit like acid from his tongue. He dropped the letter on her lap. Everything about him felt tense, like a crossbow, loaded and just waiting for the pressure on the trigger. He stalked around their bedchambers grinding his teeth and clenching his jaw.

Margaery tried to remain calm. It was a letter from Varys. His writing was neat and small. 

My liege,

May this letter find you in good health. I have uncovered a plot where Arianne Martell seeks to dispose of you and press Renly's claim to the throne. I have enclosed a list of names of her supporters. 

Her heart filled with dread. She did not need to see the other letter to know whose name was on that parchment. His own brother, his own flesh and blood, sought to end his life. Their daughters were still babes at her skirts, if Stannis were to die, Renly could push his claim and the lords would fall behind him. The throne would be vulnerable with just a girl and her regents. 

“What are you going to do?”

“I've asked him to end it. In my own hand, I sent a letter to Storm's End, and told him to stop the foolishness. He has our ancestral home! It is that woman,” He accused Arianne Martell easily, “She is poison.” 

The last time Margaery had seen Arianne it had been at the celebratory feast for Melara. She did not feel any animosity, but, she had been disinherited for her own claim to Dorne. Her ambition to rule was greater than her love for Stannis. 

“Did he respond to you?”

“No.” Stannis rubbed his temples, “Twyin suggested we arrest him for plotting against the crown. We have proof enough, but his bannermen may rise up against me. I do not want to start a war with winter at our backs.”

Margaery wept that night. She cradled their youngest babe in her arms and wept. Two brothers who held little love for one another would make the realm bleed. She loved her husband, she loved her children, and she loved her people. She was not ready for this to end. Winter was not a time for war. 

Stannis rode for Storm's End at dawn. Margaery dried her tears and prepared for a war of her own.

:: February 301 ::

Snow started falling in King's Landing and Stannis had not yet returned from his war with Renly. As was expected, Renly resisted – but was captured quickly, according to the reports. It was his wife, Arianne Martell, who rose up with the bannermen. They refused to give up Storm's End and claimed Renly the rightful ruler to the throne. It was a ridiculous notion – Stannis had two children, trueborn heirs, but Renly thought his claim stronger because they were girls.

Renly awaited his fate in the dungeon's of the Red Keep.

In Stannis' absence, Margaery had been designated regent. Her skirts swished as she decended the stairs to the dungeon. A member of the Kingsguard followed behind her with a torch. The months locked away had paled his handsome face and dirtied it. He was fed well and not left to rot – he should be thanking her. If Margaery was cruel, she would have executed him a long time ago. But, this was her husband's brother, her brother-in-law, the same blood ran through her daughters' veins. He was kept in the cells for high lords. There were no windows, but he had a cot to sleep on, and it was better than pushing him into a cell with all the common criminals. 

“I see you and my brother have been busy.” Renly said with a smile, gesturing lazily to her swollen stomach.

The Kingsguard brought her a stool to sit on. Margaery watched the torch's flames as they flickered over his face. He had grown a beard since she last saw him. His laughing eyes were still speckled with amusement. As if this was all a big joke to him. 

Her husband was out fighting a war he shouldn't be fighting all because Renly wanted something he could not possibly understand. The Iron Throne was duty, it was sacrifice, and pain. It was not a comfortable chair because being a king was not a comfortable job. She tried to tell him so, but Renly waved her off.

“Queen Margaery, has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? You were made for this.”

“I was educated at court, yes.” 

“When we win the war, I promise you that no harm will come to you or your children.” He smiled easily, “You can even stay here at the keep! It will be much warmer and kinder than taking the Roseroad to Highgarden.” 

Margaery regarded him coolly. If he was trying to get a rise out of her, it was not going to work. Renly took a sip of his water from the pewter cup. The dungeon's had a chill to them. She wrapped her fur cloak a little tighter around herself. 

“You're fighting your own brother.” If she could make Renly see reason, then he might order his bannermen to stand down. She could end this war without more blood being spilled. 

“Stannis never loved me or Robert. He only loves himself.”

Margaery knew that to be untrue, but she said nothing. Stannis loved their children, he loved her, though he had no love for the crown on his head. A crown is heavy, he told her, but Robert won the throne and left it to me to defend it. 

“Would you write to your wife and tell her to stand down?”

Renly laughed at that. “Oh, no, she's far too headstrong.”

Margaery sighed. “Very well.” This visit had gotten her nowhere. Renly thought Storm's End had a chance against the entire realm. Eddard Stark had raised his banners in support of Stannis, as did Mace Tyrell, and the Tullys in the Riverlands. There had even been word that some of the high lords had turned their back on Arianne and joined Stannis' side.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Renly scrambled to his feet, his hands curled around the iron bars,“You're just going to leave me down here?”

“Until my husband returns from this war. Yes, I am.”

“You can't -” 

Margaery whirled on him, her doe eyes narrowed - “I can and will. Your brother, his Grace, named me regent. Did you think I would come down here and take pity on you?” She smiled sweetly, “No, no, Renly. I came down here to see if you would end this war for the good of the realm. But, you won't. Which is exactly why you would make a terrible king.” 

At that, she took her Kingsguard's arm and he helped her ascend the narrow winding steps. 

:: March 301 ::

The snow reached eight inches high on the day Margaery went into labor. It stopped snowing when the baby was born, yet it never took it's first breath.

Her midwife informed her later – that it had been a boy. She waved the woman away and asked for the maester to bring some milk of the poppy to help her sleep. She was tired and she missed her husband. It was so cold, even with the fires burning day and night. 

Margaery pulled the furs up to her neck.

:: August 301 ::

Stannis had been named 'The Just' when he returned from the war. The throne room was silent. The braziers burning hotly and the Kingsguard standing resolute at the foot of the throne. Margaery slipped into the throne room, hoping to be unnoticed, as the prisoner was brought before the king. 

The trail was led by Davos Seaworth. He questioned Renly, questioned his loyalty – not just to Stannis, but to the Realm. The once sea pirate's brunt honesty cut through any lies Renly tried to tell. Renly tried, but the months in the cells had made him weak. His charm was lackluster. There was no passion to his words, no real effort to defend his crimes.

The room waited with bated breath for Stannis' judgment.

“To the wall. They need men.” And that was the end of it. Renly tried to protest, that the wall was for criminals, rapers, and thieves – but Stannis was already leaving the throne room. Storm's End fell to his only living daughter and it never rose up against him again.

:: November 305 ::

This winter had been unforgiving and cruel. It snowed day after day, until King's Landing was just white land and frozen lakes. The early months of winter had been downcast and grey, the snow falling lightly and kissing the ground. The snow would stop for months at a time and then start again. Now, it was dark. Always dark. The snow fell in heavy flakes from the blackness. Margaery had not seen the sun in two years.

Margaery kept her children inside. Melara, her strong child, was inquisitive and bossy. She wanted to ride horses, and learn how to use a bow. She craved adventure and sunlight and the wildness of the forests and thrill of hunts. 

Margaery did not know what to do with her. Winter kept everyone locked within the keep. She tried to use music, but Melara was too impatient to listen the songs. She loved stories, but she had heard them all before. Her dreams were wild – she wanted to be an outlaw one day, a queen the next, and an assassin on the morrow. But, with the snows building higher and higher, Margaery could not blame her eldest for having a frantic, restless imagination. 

Corenna followed her sister around. Only a year separating them made it easy for them to get along. But, Melara was blunt and honest – even going so far as to tell one of the serving girls she was fat. She had no courtesies. Her sister, though, could smooth any slight over with her honeyed words. She was sly and quick, her soft brown curls and pretty blue eyes lulled anyone and everyone who she talked to into liking her. That was the way of things. Melara would insult someone, unknowingly, and Corenna would be there to deeply apologize for her sister and save her from trouble.

Margaery had already started to teach Corenna the ways of the highborn courts.

“He cries too much.” Melara complained, her wild hair pinned back with a blue ribbon. “Except when he's eating.” 

Margaery smoothed her son's hair back. She wished she could invite her family to court. They would swoon over how much Willem had the Tyrell look. Stannis had kissed her sweaty cheek when he was born. A true heir. A strong, healthy son. He would be raised to command men and lead the Seven Kingdoms to the next era of peace.

“When is father coming back?” Corenna asked, “He should not have left with so much snow.” 

“Your father had matters in the Riverlands.”

“What does that mean?” Melara pressed, wishing to know everything about everyone without an ounce of subtlety. 

“It means he had king stuff to do.” Corenna made a face at her sister. 

Margaery wiped a bit of dribble from Willem's chin. Their children were too young to know the truth of the matter. That the Riverlands continued to try and expand and press their claims on other holds. The Westerlands, now ruled by Tyrion 'The Imp', had grown annoyed enough to call upon the king for help.

She feared for his safety. How could you fight your enemies if the entire world was blanketed in snow and darkness? She kept her fears locked tight away in the garden of her heart. Margaery did not burden her children or her ladies in waiting with her fears. 

A wolf howled and the sound of it made a chill run through her bones. 

:: December 305 ::

Davos pulled her aside after a small council meeting. “Your Grace. I have some news...”

Margaery checked the corridors. They were alone, or as close as anyone could be alone in the Red Keep. She nodded, allowing him to continue. Her years as queen and wife to Stannis had taught her the value of a loyal man like Davos. She felt safe when he was around her or her children, she knew he would die protecting them. He would always give true council – even if her king did not want to hear it. 

And he loved their children as if they were his own. Margaery found several carved wooden figurines in their bedchambers. Melara had even started saying that she would like to be a pirate and requested - or rather, demanded – that Davos marry her to one of his sons. He had chuckled and patted her head, promising that when she was older, he'd talk to her father. 

She wondered if this conversation had something to do with Melara's suggestion. But, she was only a girl of eight. They could not set up any arrangements until she had her first blood. 

“Your husband has named me Lord Paramound of the Trident.” Davos gave a quirk of a smile, “He raised me up from a lowly smuggler to a man with his own house, my children can be knights and stewards and lords, he's given me a life I'd never thought possible. And now?” Davos shook his head, unbelieving, and Margaery could not blame him. “Well, I need to leave King's Landing to make arrangements, but I fear the snows will prohibit me from returning.”

“Why tell me this?”

Davos smiled again, “Well, he's likely to be less upset if it hears it from you, my queen.”

“You mean, he wouldn't let you leave, had you told him.” Margaery placed a hand on Davos' arm. “Safe travels, then, ser Davos. You were a loyal and true member of this house. We will miss you, terribly so.”

“Aye, you take care of yourself.” 

That was the last time she saw him.

:: July 308 ::

The snowfall stopped but the cold remained. Blackwater had frozen with a thick sheen of ice. The snowbanks were nearly ten feet tall. The smallfolk remained hidden in their homes and the lords in their castles. The dead were thrown out into the snow for the crows and wild things. Margaery shuddered at the thought of bodies thawing in the streets. 

Even with the warmest of cloaks, fur-lined gloves, and scarves, the cold still burned through and tried to capture her heart. The Red Keep was not a northern castle equipped to deal with winter's wrath. Her two daughters slept in the same bed for shared warmth. The serving girls and cooks and page boys all moved about the castle in their cloaks and gloves. They bundled themselves up even in the protection of the thick walls. The cold still seeped into the cracks of the windows and threatened to claim the foolish who do not keep their fires stoked during the night. The Tower of the Hand was empty. It was too high and the wind howled furiously. It was colder than the rest of the Red Keep. Margaery hated having to send servants up there to collect something the Hand left behind.

That morning, she broke her fast with Melara. Her sister had gone to her sewing circle and her brother to training with the commander of the Kingsguard. The fact that her younger brother was able to learn how to use a sword had provoked Melara's anger and jealousy. 

“It's not fair! I want to fight! Septa Mereya said that I'm a spitting image of Robert, but a girl, and Robert was a great warrior!” 

Margaery sighed, “Husbands do not permit their wives to fight. Not usually.”

“So?” Melara scrunched her nose, “I'll find a husband who will.”

“That's not how it works, sweetling.” Margaery tried to explain, bringing another spoonful of leek soup to her lips. This winter had lasted eight years thus far and Margaery was careful with what she ate and how much. They had stocked the keep with grains, potatoes, honey and salted meats. But, still, she wanted to be careful. If they ran out of food, there were no fields to left anymore, and they could not break the ice of Blackwater. 

Stannis had named a new Hand when Davos left. To her surprise, he took the news of Davos leaving for the Riverlands with some grace. He had grit his teeth, grumbled, and cursed – but Stannis knew Davos better than anyone. The choice Davos made was a sound one. 

The new Hand was a Frey, older than Davos, but quick. His beady little eyes followed every movement in the keep. He kept meticulous records and had a striking memory. He could recall what a man wore on the day he met them. Margaery did not like him overly much, but Davos had left a large hole to fill. He did his job well and that was the most Margaery could ask for. 

“Corenna says I'm never going to get married. She says I'll be sent off to the silent sisters.”

“We will not send you to the silent sisters. Now, eat your breakfast.” Margaery nudged the bowl towards her eldest daughter, “And we'll talk of marriage once you're of age.”

:: August 308 ::

She found Stannis in the Tower of the Hand. It was too cold up here to be occupied by anyone – she expected to find him in the solar or in the library – but to find him here was odd enough. Her breath misted the higher she climbed. Her nose and cheeks turning pink. 

Margaery pushed the heavy door open to see Stannis' back. “There you are, my king.”

“Davos is dead.” He said it, so bluntly, so harshly, that Margaery took a slight step back.

“Wh-what?”

“You can read, can't you?” And he thrust the letter into her face. The anger was rolling off him, but it was not directed at her. Not completely. She was just an outlet – a nearby person who he could vent off of. She took the letter carefully. The wind screamed around them, pulling at the stones and bricks of the tower, begging it to fall.

It was from Davos' eldest son. He thanked Stannis for all he's done for their family. He explained the situation in Riverrun, and the frozen lakes and rivers. And the last section read;

My father has passed, the maester said the stress took claim on his heart, but mother doesn't think it's true. She says he was old and that's just what happens to old men. I am sorry we could not tell you this in person. We will hold a small ceremony here at Riverrun, but, if winter ends I will hold a tourney in his honor – you and your family are invited to attend.

“Stress on his heart.” Stannis said when she finished, “I should have kept him here. I should have given the bloody Trident to someone else!” 

Margaery now understood the anger. “You cannot blame yourself. I told you what Davos said before he left...”

“Yes, he thanked me. I sent him to his grave and he thanked me for it!” Stannis slammed his fist on the desk. 

“You did not!” Margaery challenged him. “Davos knew the responsibility. You give him too little credit.”

“Davos would not say 'no' to me.”

“He wouldn't?” She scoffed, “He's said no plenty of times! He was not some...some—fluffed up southern lord eager for your favor.” 

Stannis' shoulders shook – with sadness or rage – she could not tell. “He was a good man.” He said, weakly.

“He was. He was a great man. I am glad to have known him.”

Stannis did not come to bed that night, nor the next night after that. She left him to grieve. She knew better than to try and press him to accept her comforts. Margaery wrote a letter of condolences to the family and explained, as best as she could, to the children that Davos would not be returning from the Trident. Melara would not talk to her for three days (as if it were her fault) and Corenna spent her time in the royal sept, praying for Davos' family, that this would be the only loss they faced this year.

:: October 308 ::

The winter had taken lives and limbs. The snow started to fall again. Margaery heard little word of the people in Flea Bottom and the snow was too high make the journey there. Winter had calmed the realm, but it had also taken it. Starving peasants revolted in each hold, but food would grow scarce year by year if the people did not ration. 

Margaery plead to Stannis an evening after supper, “There must be something we can do! I hear it constantly! Revolts in White Harbor, revolts in Dragonstone, revolts in Sun Spear! This winter must end soon, we cannot leave the people to starve!”

Sometimes, when he met her eyes, Margaery felt as if she were looking into the ocean. If she looked too deep, she might drown. Over a decade of marriage and still she could not decipher her husband's gaze. 

“Winter is here, Margaery. Mothers will smother their children rather than see them starve, men will eat dogs, and horses, and even their own kin to survive. This is the longest winter I have ever seen, but we must survive it. We will not survive it if we begin handing out our food to the poor. They will storm the gates. They will kill our children for a scrap of bread. Do not underestimate the power of hunger.” He brushed a curl of her hair, the back of his hand grazing her cheek, “Survival is all that matters right now. We cannot afford to be charitable.” 

The truth of his words pained her.

:: December 308 ::

“Mother, Melara says that she used to have blood oranges for breakfast. I want an orange.” Willem pouted, dropping his spoon into the thick cream of wheat with butter and honey. 

“When winter ends, you will.” Margaery promised. Willem had only known winter and darkness. The cold had gotten into his bones. He had never know the sun, felt it's warmth upon his skin, or played in the rivers with his sisters. He was a dour child, envious of his sisters, and greedy. Margaery had caught him stealing from the kitchens more than once. He refused to train with his sword anymore, claiming that Melara can train instead since she wants it so badly. 

He had her looks, but nothing else. She could not even find a resemblance to Stannis within him. He wanted a grand feast for his sixth nameday, he wanted pigeon pies, and strawberries, and big fat pigs with apples in their mouths. Margaery could promise him nothing of that sort. When winter began, the fruits had been eaten first, if they could not be preserved into jams and jellies. He was a winter child, but he had the soft life of a prince. Had he been born from a peasant family, he may not have survived at all. 

Willem groaned, kicking his feet under the table. “It's not fair! It's not fair!” He bellowed.

“No.” Margaery agreed, “It's not. But you're lucky to have food at all.” 

:: July 309 ::

“What do you mean the Night's Watch needs your help?!” Margaery sat up in bed, unable to move much since the maester instructed she spend as much as this pregnancy lying down. She was twenty-seven and although it was not uncommon for women to have children at this age, the winter made birthing difficult. 

“Her body must be kept warm at all times. Hot cider to drink or mulled wine.” The maester instructed, rubbing his knotted hands together, “If the cold touches the babe, then she may loose it.”

They put hot coals in a basin under her bed and covered her in the warmest furs. A fire was stoked night and day in her chambers and they had even blocked her window for fear of an icy draft. 

Her children visited after supper, crawling over her and pressing their small hands into her stomach, and talking to the babe within. The nannies had taken them off to bed and now it was only her and her husband – who would now leave her – in the middle of the nine year winter.

“Damn the Night's Watch! They can handle a king beyond the wall, can't they?”

“It's not a wildling raid.” Stannis shook his head.

“Oh, so what?” She crossed her arms, “Grumpkins? Giants? In the flatlands, the snow is as tall as a man on horseback and I cannot say how tall it grows in the valleys! The horses can't possibly ride through that and the ships are frozen to the harbor.” 

“Renly would not lie to me!” 

“He tried to have you killed, how do you know this isn't a ploy?”

“Because his wife is dead, his daughter rules the Stormlands, and he has no reason to lie. He's taken the black, even if he killed me – which he doesn't have the stomach for – the throne would pass to Willem.”

Margaery stretched out her hand. “Let me read the letter.”

It would not matter what she said. The letter was sent of Renly's own hand and the Night Commander's. The dead were rising at the wall and they called upon all the lords in the Realm to help defend it. The watch was only six hundred men strong. Margaery wanted to crumple the parchment in her hands and forbid him from riding north. 

“If the child is born while I am away name him after my father.” Stannis kissed her forehead. As much as she wanted to turn away, to scald him with harsh words, that he was abandoning his family – this was the man she married. A man who would, without fail, always do his duty. 

“Come back.” Margaery felt her voice waver, she clutched the front of his doublet, “Willem is too young to rule. Don't you dare die out there in the cold.” 

She named the child Cassana, after his mother, and the bells were too frozen to ring. Stannis was somewhere north heading for the Wall. He would not know of his child's birth until – or if – he returned. 

Margaery was not a very religious woman, but for the first time in years, she prayed to the Seven to return her husband safely. She prayed to the Warrior for strength. She prayed for the Crone to light his way. She even prayed to the Stranger that he would steer his gaze away from her husband for a while longer. 

:: November 311 ::

A white raven arrived. The icicles clinging to the Red Keep began to melt. Westeros started to live again.

A week later, she saw the yellow and black flag on the horizon. The silken banner flapped in the wind like a living thing. The snow was still too high for her to meet him at the gates. Stannis arrived, unharmed, but a new darkness to his eyes. Margaery did not press him for answers to questions better left unsaid. She pulled him into the warmth of their shared bed. She guided his hands, and his mouth, and helped him forget about the shadows beyond the Wall.

They laid, sweaty and breathless, watching the windowpanes drip as the long winter finally passed. 

“I met with Eddard Stark in Winterfell on the way home.”

“Oh?” She rested her chin on his chest. Margaery wanted to hear this. Stannis and Eddard shared similar views and once the ghost of Robert no longer lurked the halls, she noticed the pair had learned to respect one another. They would never be brothers like Robert and Eddard had been. But, a mutual respect was enough.

“He wishes to wed our houses. His second son, Mikken, to our Melara.”

Margaery smiled. Her daughter wanted a husband who would let her use a sword. “What kind of man is Mikken?”

“Tall. Strong. He has the Northern look.” 

“When?”

“Soon. Once the Kingsroad is clear.”

Margaery smiled, “I would like to take the children to Highgarden before the wedding.”

Stannis did not deny her request. Margaery hoped the sights of green land would thaw Willem's heart. A winter child could learn to love the sun, the dirt, the grass and trees. He was so pale that his skin was almost translucent. He needed to feel the warmth of the sun and breeze through his hair. 

She cuddled closer to Stannis and fell asleep for the night, dreaming of golden fields and rose gardens, of her father's smile and sweet, bursting strawberries on her tongue. 

:: June 312 :: 

She kept to her promise and Stannis kept to his. Melara would be wed to the Stark boy in just six month's time. Margaery traveled with her oldest children to Highgarden in a grand wheelhouse with the household guard, two members of the Kingsguard, and half a dozen others. Melara begged to ride instead of riding in the wheelhouse and Margaery allowed it – as long as she did not break away from the column. 

Corenna asked endless questions about Highgarden. When she ran out of questions to ask, she buried herself in one of the books she had brought along with her. Willem crossed his arms and complained that the wheelhouse was too warm, too slow, too bumpy and so forth. Margaery learned to turn his complaints into white noise. Her twenty-ninth name day had passed in January.

It had been fifteen years since she rode for King's Landing and wed Stannis. Winter had halted most of the raven's messages. Game was scarce this winter and the maesters suspected that hawks were roosting in the high towers and swooping down on the raven's. She had not heard from her father since winter began and the last time she saw his face was when Melara was born. 

They stopped at the inns during dusk at the end of each day and Margaery gave a silver piece to the innkeep. Her children greased their fingers on pheasant roasts and warm bread. The fields were still too frozen to work, but it would take time for the world to thaw. The days were growing longer and warmer with each passing month. Margaery prayed that this was a true spring and not a false one. Willem begged to try a sip of ale from one of the knights. 

He chuckled, “Ye can have it when you're older, lad.” 

Her boy's face turned bright pink with rage. He came upon the knight like a summer storm, his fists hitting the mail of his armor. “How dare you! How dare you! I'm the prince! How dare you!” His fit only incited more laughter. Margaery rose from her seat at the table and grabbed his arm in a swift, gentle grip. 

“Mother – he said - “

“I heard him.” She let go of her son's arm, “Come sit down at my end of the table and you can have a cup of wine.” It was only fair. Corenna and Melara were permitted to drink a cup with her. She would fill his cup to half full and that would soothe him. Melara was dusty from the ride, her hair cropped short and touching her chin. The more she grew, the more she looked like her father. She had his jaw, his nose, his eyes, the dark and thick Baratheon hair. 

“You should wash before bed.” Margaery instructed her eldest.

Her daughter sighed, “Yes, mother.” 

Margaery could have cried tears of joy when the high walls of her childhood home came into view. The court came to greet her and everyone else. 

“There has been a feast prepared in your honor, Your Grace.” A servant had informed her, bowing, and Margaery lost herself to nostalgia. The gardens were not blooming, but the seeds had been planted. Every window in the castle had been opened to let the fresh air rush through the halls. Melara went riding with some of the other younger girls at court and she always returned filthy, but smiling. Corenna delighted in the fashions of Highgarden. She was always chatting with the seamstresses and touching the silks, and cottons, and fine lace. Coreena fit into this world like a second skin.

Willem was only truly happy at the feast. He had never been allowed so much food in his life. They were still rationing back home at King's Landing. It had been the king's decree that they not begin to eat excessively until the soil could be turned and the first plants begin to sprout. 

Highgarden was lucky for it's trade routes and the waters thawing before the ground did. Willem ate so much, she feared he would be sick, but he kept eating. He shoved smoked salt fish and chunks of sharp white cheese, he spread sweet strawberry preserve onto his bread, and sucked the meat from the crab legs. There was hotcrab stew and salted ham. She permitted all her children to have one cup of wine at the feast. Willem belched loudly and kept eating.

Margaery could find little appetite. She did not want to gorge herself after eating so carefully for so long. She drank a cup of water sweetened with lemons and enjoyed the presence of so many faces, so unfamiliar after so long. Her brothers hounded her, asked her questions about her life in King's Landing, and Loras offered to teach Willem a thing or two about a sword. Her father was pleased, rubbing his fat chin and smiling. 

They spent the next three months in Highgarden. Her daughters blossomed and even her son began to like it here.

Margaery gave birth to their fifth child in the bed where her own birthing had taken place. It was an easy birth. There had been a moment of pain and the child slid from her between her legs into the maester's arm, pink faced and screaming, with her tiny hands balled into fists.

“You're getting good at this, sister.” Willas teased.

“Oh, oh hush...” 

:: March 317 ::

Her marriage was not without it's strains and faults. She had sent Willem, nearly a man grown, to train under Loras at Highgarden. Her husband was not pleased with the decision.

“He should be here, learning how to rule.”

“He needs to know how to lead men and to fight.”

“And that new master-at-arms you asked me about? We have a master-at-arms.”

“I was merely suggesting...”

“You are the queen! You cannot make decisions behind my back! You sent him to Highgarden without my leave!”

“Oh, come off it!” Margaery spun to face him. She knew this man. They would butt heads, but they were always, always in this together. That was what a marriage was. It was two people, coming together, and pulling out the best of one another. Or the worst. If it was that kind of marriage. She knew in her gut that he was not truly mad about her sending Willem to Highgarden. There was something else bothering him.

“You would have agreed with me. He's not ready to learn how to rule!” She did not allow him to intervene, “What is it?! What is it, really? Come now – don't guard your tongue, you were never a man for that.”

“Have you been unfaithful?”

Margaery's jaw dropped. “Unfaithful? I am your wife! What?” She pressed forward, attempting to back him into a wall, but Stannis stood proud and unmoving. “Did you think while you were off war campaigning – I would lie with another man? Do you not look at your child's faces?!” Her face had grown hot with anger. “Look upon Melara and tell me she is not your child! And our little one, Lyria, her eyes are yours – in a few more years – she and Corenna could pass as twins!” 

“I have had my suspicions.” 

“Others take you!” She cursed, “I have loved you but, I have never hated you. Not until this moment. Damn you! Damn you!” She slammed her hand into his chest, “Go to hell, Stannis Baratheon! How dare you accuse me of this! After everything we've endured!” 

“In the midst of the harshest winter we have ever known – “

“Did you think I'd find some stable boy to warm the bed for the night!?” Margaery pushed at his chest again, but he did not move. Their words grew hot and burning. She had never fought with him like this. Not once. Not in twenty years of marriage had they ever torn into one another like this. There had been too much respect between the two of them. They argued, but they never fought.

She took her claim of him that night. She tore apart his skin, clawed at his back, and bit his neck. She rode him and threatened that if he ever accuse her of infidelity again, she would turn him into an eunuch.

:: September 320 ::

She had given birth to seven children, though only five of them lived. Stannis' beard had started to grey and she teased him for it. Her breasts were no longer plump and high as they had been in her youth. Rivers of stretchmarks covered her stomach and legs, reminders that she had created life and carried it into this world. She had survived the longest winter in living history and grown stronger from it. She watched the rise and fall of great houses around her, while the Baratheon and Tyrell house stood strong.

Her eldest daughter had written to her from Moat Caitlin. She was happy, or so her letters said. She had still not yet convinced her lord husband to let her learn how to wield a sword, but she was running the household and could go riding whenever she pleased. That was enough.

Her sly and cunning daughter Corenna missed King's Landing. But, she was weaving her charm into the courts of Starfall. Her husband was ill, she said, but the maester's were doing everything they could. That letter had given Margaery pause. Corenna was sweet, but she had learned to use that sweetness to her advantage.

Willem had loved Highgarden too much. He wounded himself in a tourney, coming home with a nasty scar that marred his handsome face. Margaery had noticed that he had grown since she last saw him. He ate too much and drank too much and if Varys little birds told the truth – he also visited brothels too much. Margaery could not tame him. He would not listen to his queen mother nor his father. He believed himself to be better than both of them and better than everyone else. Margaery grieved for months after his passing. She wept in the solace of her bedchambers in her husband's arms. Stannis had curled his lip in distaste when he heard the cause – it was a disease only caught by having sex with an infected persons – but she knew in her heart that Stannis was saddened by the death of his first son. The Gods had been kind enough to give them two.

Cassana was betrothed to a grandson of Davos Seaworth. When the boy's father, one of Davos' sons, had written to herself and the king requesting they join their houses, Stannis had a quirk of a smile on his lips. The Seaworth family and the Baratheon's would join together once Cassana was of age.

Lyria was a lover of music and poetry. She had the prettiest of voices and would sing after supper, much to the delight of their guests. She had a gift for it. Someday, she said, even father would dance to one of her songs. That day had yet to come.

Her last babe, Andrion, had been a blessing after Willem's death. At first, he was to be trained as a second son, meant for a life of numbers, or knighthood. But, now he was the heir to the throne. He would be given armor and a sword once he came of age. He would learn how to lead men and fight men. 

Margaery reflected on her life as she sipped iced milk with honey in the warmth of the gardens. Her king was turning grey and loosing hair. He would not need to carry this burden for very long. She smiled and touched the golden bracelet clasped around her thin wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> **Additional Note:** If you would like me to write a Stannis-centered POV of this, please let me know :) Since this was very Marg focused! 
> 
> Alright - let me explain myself now that you've finished the story. (cackles) I put 11K into this fic AND I AM NOT ASHAMED!! You see, I was playing a video game with a Game of Thrones mod, AND THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED. no. seriously. Stannis married Marg, inherited the throne like ASAP because Robert died so fast, and Cersei went off and married Benjen Stark (LOL) So you know - I'm just - I'm just here spinning my tales. It was really hard to write because the actors kept appearing my head, which, is all well and good for later in the story, but at the beginning - Stannis is only like in his thirties. So it was hard to imagine a younger/happier Stannis . And the Greyjoy Rebellion never happened, the war of the Five Kings never happened, Stannis never met Melissandre, or took the R'hollor faith. 
> 
> So, that's why I named it a crack!Fic. So if I happened to get characterization wrong...well...look at this fucking crack AU fic I mean SERIOUSLY. Look at it. Ridiculous. I can't believe I wrote this I am trash put me in the garbage pls.


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